It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

THE McELROY ZOO: Meet Sonny, a sweet boy who needs a home
Appeals to ‘common sense’ are frequently excuses to avoid thinking
I still have trouble accepting that my idealized world doesn’t exist
What if other people see you or hear you differently than you do?
FRIDAY FUNNIES
THE McELROY ZOO: Meet Tommy, who needs a home before winter
The Alien Observer: The Outrage Machine is destroying us all
Ignore the happy face it presents: Coercive state points a gun at you
Weddings are triumphs of love and hope over reasonable fears